


Let me confess that we two must be twain

by Nina36



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: AUish but not messing with history, Angst, Damn Rufus Sewell and his talent, F/M, this ship has consumed my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36
Summary: He was desperately in love with the woman, the young woman who was holding his very soul (a life of academic interest in religion had come to this: she was his creed, his religion, his everything.) in her hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet XXXVI.  
> Vicbourne is consuming my soul.

“I shall do what is expected of me. I shall put my duty and my people first, I will smile and wave and never let them know how hard it is to bear. I shall – I give you my word as your Queen and as your friend, but –“ She hesitated, clasping and unclasping her hands, her eyes bright,  holding his gaze.

There was a respectable distance between them ( too much.  _Not_ _enough),_ the door was closed  and no one would enter,  no one would disturb them.  They never did.

She was small,  dressed in dark blue, she was too pale. There was sadness in her beautiful eyes and he hated himself because he was the cause for that unhappiness.  

She would never,  could never be _his._ It didn’t matter how both of them might feel. Life, _real_ life did not work that way.   

He knew that.  She knew _that_. It did not change that moment in time, though – it could not heal the invisible wound they were both carrying.  

" _But_...  ma'am?" He gently enquired.  He did not move from his place,  he looked at her because she was the center  of his life. He was greedy,  he  forgot the reasons why he was not supposed to even think about what ifs,  about lies he had told her for her own good that had broken them both or about truths wrapped in analogies that had made things worse. 

"I need the _truth_." She stated simply. She gave him a small, hesitant smile, so unlike the bright ones she usually gifted him with, the ones he treasured, the ones that made him feel more alive than he had felt for a very long time.  

He closed his eyes. 

_The truth shall make you free._

 

Not in his experience,  no. The truth would widen the cracks already there. The truth would make that calm, that thin veneer of normalcy and intimacy unravel. She was his queen, his friend – and he could not deny her anything.  

_I was so happy before.  You were happy too?_

_You know I was_

 

They were.  _Lord_ ,  they had been so happy!  Ignorance had indeed been _bliss_.  They had been together,  every day,  they had been close,  they had skirted that invisible line that ought not even be there, to begin with, ignoring the rumors ( as there was nothing worse than to address them),  living in their world : shapeless, warm, comforting and bright. 

"Lord M, " His Queen said.  No- she pleaded; her voice was firm, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears and that plea in them: make it stop.  Help me!

 _Love_ me _._

And he did. God helped him he did, with all his heart.

"Why? " He asked. He was smiling,  he had to.  He was drinking her in. He was about to shatter his heart for her.

He could not move.  If he did,  if he took but one step he would not be able to let her go.  Not again.

"I need to hear it. " The Queen said.

She moved,  taking a step toward him.  She was  young,  brave,  innocent – and he could not, would not take advantage of that.

"Were I an ordinary woman... " She trailed.

"You are not,  though,  ma'am.  Even if you were not the queen there would never be anything ordinary about you. " He said and he was taken aback by the sincerity, the passion he could hear in his own voice. That was a mistake, that could _not_ happen.

"Victoria. " The queen said,  "I beseech you to call me Victoria.  Just this once. "

She took another step and whispered,   "Were I not a queen,  what would you have told me at Brocket Hall? "

He was used to schooling his features, not to show his true inclinations,  and yet it took him a  considerable effort not to move,  not to reach out to her.

He had touched her hand that day,  stood closer than it was appropriate,  it had not been the first time, but there had been no feeble excuses behind which he could hide that time.

No, he could not move.

He could not deny her anything – except what their hearts so desperately yearned.

"Would you have lied to me?" She asked.

"No, " He said. He could not lie to her now, “but I would have reminded you of your age. You are so very young, ma’am…”

“Victoria.” She said. She took another step. The distance between them had grown shorter. They had spent so many days together, side by side, but it felt so completely different at that precise moment. He should move, take a step back, find again the strength he had had that day at Brocket Hall. He could not find that strength, he could only look at the young, extraordinary woman in front of him.

“Victoria.” Lord  Melbourne said and he had to swallow.

It felt natural on his lips, it felt intimate, it felt so _right_ and he knew it wasn’t, it could not be, even if everything in him was crying otherwise.

“I am not a child,” She said, “you, of all people, never treated me as such.”

That was true. He had expected one, he had expected someone similar to the previous monarchs, he had not expected someone who shone as brightly as the sun, someone whose mind was sharp and heart inherently good and innocent.

“No, you are not. Nevertheless, it is a fact that you are terribly young.” He hesitated. If he said her name he would cross a line, she would know, without a doubt.

She did know, though. He had told her, with flowers, with analogies, with his eyes, with his silences.

She shook her head. She was fighting hard not to cry, not to speak, not to move again.

He had broken her heart – and his – once. How could he do that again?

“You said –“ He whispered after a moment, “that you will do what is expected of you.”

“I shall. I gave you my word, didn’t I?” She replied.

And then…

And then she moved, she closed the distance between them. They were close – too close. He ought to move, he ought to remember their roles, the sheer impossibility of what they had, whom they were.

“What would you have done,” She said. She didn’t pose it as a question. She tilted her head up, she was looking at him, and he knew he was lost. He had been lost for a very long time.

“I would not have lied to you, Victoria. I would have reminded you that you are impossibly young, nevertheless, I would have accepted your heart, for you already hold mine.” He said. He could not stop the words from flowing out of his mouth, they were coming from deep within, from a dark place that she had unlocked and filled with light, with hope.

It would be his undoing, his downfall. He was aware of that.

She gave him a small smile, he could see that she wanted to touch him, her small, perfect hands were closed in tight fists at her sides, he could see the almost imperceptible shakes of her shoulders.

He could see – the life they could never have, he could see that day at Brocket Hall, could see their lips brushing for a chaste kiss, he could see her mother’s ring on Victoria’s finger, he could see them walking hand in hand, with a promise for the future in their hearts and still tingling on their lips.

He could see her walking down the aisle, flowers from his glasshouse on her bosom and around her head.

He could feel, sense, taste, their love – growing stronger and stronger because Victoria (his queen, his friend, his – world) seemed to read right through him, she saw the darkness, the rough edges, the pain and the tiredness and had always been able to turn everything into – joy, laughter and soft edges.

He could see, hear himself saying the words, the wedding vows. He could hear Victoria’s voice, loud and clear – and he would have to live, after, without ever saying her Christian name. He would have to live without her, but that didn’t seem to matter, not while he was cocooned by the warmth of her gaze and he could hear her words, the vows that she would uphold because Victoria was unlike any woman he had met or loved.

 

_“to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to obey until death do us part.”_

 

“I would have been honored to cherish and treasure your heart.” She said, breaking his reverie.

He smiled. It hurt, he would feel that wound for a long time, perhaps for the rest of his days, but it did not matter.

“I would have been honored to treasure and cherish your heart, Victoria.” He said.

It was treason, it was dangerous and for the first time in his life, he did not care.

Was she imagining, seeing what could have been?

“You will be happy, Victoria. You will –“

She shook her head, she touched him, for the first time since he had entered her study after being summoned to Buckingham House. It was like fire and if he was another man and she were another woman he would take her hand in his, he would – say something more, do something more, ignore how young and inexperienced she was and would tell her how much he loved her.

“I know.” She said, “but – this, I shall always wonder.” She said and he could not do that to her.

She was the queen. She was a girl who had fallen in love for the first time, she was – bright as sunlight, she deserved to be completely, truly happy, without shadows.

He touched her face, she leaned into his touch. No one would enter without knocking and yet his heart was hammering in his chest.

“No.” He said, smiling at her because it was easy, it was impossible not to smile looking at her, it was impossible for him not to love her, not to want her complete happiness.

“You will be happy, you will be a Queen, a wife, a mother – an example for your subjects.”

He could see the tears in her eyes, now. That day, at Brocket Hall, she had not cried, she had been a Queen, she had been strong even as he broke her heart. She was crying, now. She was a young woman who was mourning what could never be, even if they both wanted that.

He could kiss her. No one would ever know, it would be – a moment, a fragment of what might have been that they would treasure.

He was not strong enough. If he kissed her he could not let her go. If he knew the taste of her lips he would not be able to forsake her, not even for her own good.

He could see the plea in her eyes, though. She would do the right thing and he knew she would be a good wife, one who would choose wisely her husband, who would love and cherish him, who would hold the lucky fellow above all other men.

He was still the center of her world, now. She loved him – and he loved her and the world outside that room was spinning, filled to the brim with rules and duty and roles.

Her heart was on his chest, she could feel his heart beating, it was an intimate gesture and he was – human.

He was an old man who had fathered and buried two children and a wife. He was his mother’s son, he was – human.

“William –“ She whispered.

He was lost. He was – undone.

He was desperately in love with the woman, the young woman who was holding his very soul (a life of academic interest in religion had come to this: she was his creed, his religion, his _everything._ ) in her hands.

“Please.” She said. It was not a command, it was not a plea, it was – them: friends, confidants, a  man and a woman.

His body was moving, of his own volition, against reason and duty, his fingers were brushing the precious satin of her dress, the softness and warmth of her neck, the pad of his thumbs were on her cheeks brushing away the tears she was not ashamed to shed, now.

“I cannot –“ He said.

_I cannot forsake you –_

_I cannot live without you, I would not know how._

_I cannot love you, but I do. Please, forgive me, I do._

_I cannot forget whom we are, but I want to._

She shook her head, she was strong willed, she didn’t know – could not know that she would forget, eventually, she would think back about that moment as if it were a hazy dream, but he would remember that moment until he breathed.

She was asking for more – and he was powerless.

Her forehead was warm, her skin soft and silky when he pressed his lips against it. She was small and trusting and he desperately wanted their lives to be different. He desperately wanted to commit treason and be selfish: take everything she offered.

His lips lingered for a moment on her forehead and then he tasted the salt of her tears (he would bear that burden from that moment on.) and the softness of her lips.

She would kiss her husband, she would bear his children, the heir to the throne.

She would forget.

He would never, ever forget.

He would see the two of them, walking hand in hand at Brocket Hall, they would watch the rooks mate and strengthen their vows and they would do the same.

Her mouth tasted like sugar and tears, her nimble fingers  were at the nape of his neck, she was standing on her tiptoes and the angle was awkward and she had never been kissed before – and he would give his life to be the first and only man she would ever kiss.

 _I love you._ He wanted to say. Like Leicester had loved Queen Elizabeth, like a man loved his woman.

As they broke the kiss he saw – the years they would never have, their children, the long evenings spent in front of their fireplace chatting and laughing. He saw himself holding her against his heart, at nights, kissing the crown of her head.

He saw the happiness they were not allowed to have and closed his eyes.

_I love you, Victoria._

He did not utter those words. He could not. He knew she heard it anyway. As always she was able to read his emotions just by standing by his side.

She did not say the words either, but that was for the better.

 

* * *

 

“I shall never forget.”

 

_William,_

The short note Emma had given him, making sure no one would notice, shortly after the Queen left with her _husband_ said.

 

_I kept my word. I shall uphold my vows, I shall love Albert, I shall try and be a good wife to him._

_I shall be forever grateful to you for the gift you have given me_

_I shall never forget. I give you my word as your Queen, as your friend, as a woman._

She had not signed the message, and as he burned it down, far away from prying eyes he closed his eyes.

Somewhere, in his heart, they were watching the parliament of rooks, under a setting sun, his arm draped around her shoulders and she was listening to his heart beating, and he was closing his eyes, happiness, light, and warmth filling his heart.

In his study, Lord Melbourne closed his eyes. There were not tears, his eyes were dry. Yet he tasted tears on his lips: Victoria’s, the ones he had spared her, the ones he would not allow himself to shed.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a Victoria's POV of this same scene.


End file.
